When Bexley's editor Eva Mellon tries to dig up secrets on an impromptu 'Office Romeo', whose oblivious 'Juliet' stands in the way of 'her forever' with fellow colleague Josh, she finds herself eerily attracted to the no-nonsense, intimidating (but...
The voice peeped into my ears as I buttoned up my least favorite corporate attire. The clock beeped seven in the morning, and ever since I told my roommate that I was going to work again, she had lectured me on why it was a bad idea. I love monthly paychecks. How can it ever be a bad idea? Hard-earned money spent well on weekends is all you must pray for while you are at it. And all the due dates I had, of course.
"Money is the priority." I sighed.
The curly-haired, blue-eyed girl gave me the dirtiest look she could afford.
"I paid the rent. That's one thing less. Plus, I am going to miss you when you are gone." She wailed, and I groaned at the thought. Her, and missing me? She was barely out in the living room. No credits to the fancy bedroom of hers! But then, that's typical Romilda for you. Poor thing's got a Law exam to clear and doesn't want to go out and meet up with people.
I buttoned up my blazer and nearly lost it when I checked myself in the mirror. My curls were tied up in terrible knots as I struggled to comb along. The red lipstick I popped on my lips looked too seductive for a 'return-to-work' day. Who knows if I get lucky, and finally have a go in romance. But it was a distant, impossible thought. No one wants to fuck a convenient ass. And then, there was this horrible black suit. Why do these people decide on a dress code that looks similar to what people wear at funerals? My curves struggled against the fabric as the skirt closed onto my thighs tighter than it should have. How was I going to walk even ten stairs? The place I landed a job in- I mean I nepotism-ed my way in, had a dress code of wearing pitch black. A buck-ironed black overcoat blazer paired with an equally black, knee-length pencil skirt whose one end had an E initial...
I don't know why my mother won't let me be. She thinks it was to help me know if the people at Bucky's Laundry have returned my clothes. But if I were her, I wouldn't sew small red 'E's on my skirts and blouse because no one steals from a person who buys second-hand suits from Cancer Charity Shop. However, the red E's reminded me of 'The Scarlet Letter'... and about that one time Ron from Middle School made a joke on it, I couldn't help but think that I am being ostracized secretly, for having asymmetrical boobs. I read on the Internet that pretty much everyone has them but what were the chances of me not being the only one on God's 'Not-done-yet' list? Now I willingly stitch them on as a symbolic reminder of being God's 'incomplete creation'. No wonder why I still don't have a boyfriend.
"You are going to need these!"
Roms handed me about five small, foiled pouches and my cheeks turned beet red.
"I am not going to an orgy. That's a bloody office at Trivia, not a club!"I scoffed at her and her gaze narrowed.
I couldn't fight with her looking at me like that, so I did what was best. I took them. The condom packets slipped into my skirt's pocket.
No, I am not going to hook up with anyone from work. Not after my return, but just in case! There's always a slight possibility. Remember how Lucy tripped into Narnia right within the wardrobe? I would trip over someone, or something and boom! I will have the best romance of my life, period.
"Are you sure you won't get lost somewhere?" Roms asked with an undying concern. The perks of living with your best friend.
"Nope. I will kick ass, out there." I said, with a wink.
"Hopefully you'll get your hands on some man's ass." She said, shooting a smirk. Did I say perks? I meant downside.
"Hold the crazy ideas!"
"You worry me, Eva. Don't end up like Harry."
"The chosen one?" I inquired amusingly.
"More like single till you almost die."
"That isn't funny!" I complained.
"I am not making a joke!" She said shrugging.
"At least I have my dream job." I mumbled.
"It's not going to get you railed!" The truth was, nothing would.
Bexley's was every editor's dream job. Located in the most populous cosmopolitan, in the heart of Fordshire, Bexley's Publishing was the golden ticket that every ambitious word nerd wanted for themselves. I was surprised they didn't fire me after the accident. Even if I die single, I won't die poor. The thought was strangely relieving.
"See you later!" I said, walking out of the door. The condom packets in my skirt shifted uncomfortably against the fabric.
"Easy there guys! We all know you are not going anywhere soon." I sighed.
Meow.
I turned around to see Miss Mason's Tabby, screeching against the window. Was that an omen? Never mind, I only remember God when it's apocalypse, or a man in sight. Unfortunately, being selectively atheist, and painfully virgin was never a good combination. Especially when I was sure that the later was a consequence of the former.
"Fuck me!" I yelled, and I saw heads turning. To the other side. Just great!
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